


Point-Blank (Comic + Companion Fic)

by Eksdy



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Blood, Dreamsharing, Early Days, Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Major Character Injury, Military, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 02:50:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4590240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eksdy/pseuds/Eksdy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An origin story of sorts.</p><p>Created for Inceptiversary 2015.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Point-Blank (Comic + Companion Fic)

  
  


 

* * *

 

“Hey Arthur!” yells Paulie from down the hall, “I’m heading over to north wing to get that lamp and shit from Ryder!”

Arthur doesn’t respond, but he knows he wasn’t expected to. He hears the distant creak and thud of the old metal door as it opens and shuts, leaving him alone with his own thoughts.

It feels so strange being left alone nowadays. In the corps, Arthur had gotten used to sharing a tent with ten to twelve other guys at a time. Here, it’s just him and Paulie sharing a bunk room and six other guys assigned to this wing of the barracks, but he spends so much time with the research team he barely gets any time to himself, and when he does, there’s usually at least one of the other guys around to break the peace.

He needs that peace now though, and luckily all the guys from his wing save for Paulie and himself had gone out drinking with the ladies from east wing.

He’s sitting on the bottom bunk in their shared room, head hung, hands laying tense upon his own knees. His thoughts aren’t in the room at all, but Arthur has gotten used to his mind being in different places than his body. Instead, he’s thinking back to just a few hours ago in the lab.

The thoughts are hazy. This batch of ‘somnacin’, as the research team had begun calling the mixture, had been a huge step forward as far as physical functionality, movement in the dream never having felt so natural, but a step back in overall clarity.

Arthur could remember details, though.

He could remember his orders- take down the enemy fast and hard. He could remember running ahead of the group to scout out a vantage. He remembered the blast, going to his knees- gunshots, and then pain- so much pain. It had been someone on Rodney’s team he thinks, not that it matters- if their roles had been reversed he would’ve done the same thing- the common courtesy of stopping to check for survivors had gone against their goal. So, he’d been left there to bleed out, leg crushed, rifle lost in the rubble- no chance of getting back to his team, or readily defending himself against further attacks.

He didn’t know how much time it had taken him to detach his pistol from his belt and fumble until it was properly in his hand- could’ve been just a few minutes or an hour in the dream. It had taken all his strength just to lift the Beretta to his temple and then-  _Eames_.

Eames had come barreling at him so fast, he’d barely had time to think- swiftly turning the pistol and nearly toppling himself in the process- but Eames wasn’t firing, he’d dropped his rifle and was coming to his knees at Arthur’s side, prying the pistol from Arthur’s loose grip, and-

“Hey Twig, can I come in?” Comes a voice from the doorway, and he jolts, startled by the sound. He hadn’t even heard the barrack’s door, he was so deep in thought.

He doesn’t respond to the question right away, but that doesn’t seem to matter, as the other man- and it’s Eames, of course it is- has already stepped into the room. He hesitates after taking a few more steps, though it’s hard to tell if he is respectfully waiting for an answer or doing so for some other reason. He is still for a moment, looking at Arthur with an unreadable expression.

Arthur stays silent.

Seemingly realizing that a response is not incoming, Eames walks the rest of the distance to stand in front of Arthur, leaning back against the wooden desk where Arthur’s mission report lay, still blank. Eames continues, “So how’s the war wounds holding up?”

“Fine,” Arthur barks in response. He’s feeling overly sensitive at the moment and Eames is about the last person he wants to see right now. Still, he sighs and continues in a calmer voice, “Like they never even existed- which they didn’t, except in my head. I’m trying to convince my mind that they were never there in the first place, but it doesn’t seem to be listening. My follow-up eval went fine, though, and I’m still cleared for active duty, so they must not think it’s too bad.”

Eames gives him a doubtful look.

“Either that or they know you’re one of the most stable dreamers we have, and aren’t giving you the courtesy of a few days rest,” Eames replies quietly, bitterness evident in his voice, and that, for some reason, is what ticks Arthur right off.

“I want to be here, Eames, and there’s no point in me being here if I’m not in the field,” Arthur stands, stepping past Eames, and running a hand over his freshly buzzed head. He turns back to face the other man again, “It’s not- this isn’t what I expected to be doing when I joined up, but it’s- it’s better. Even with the bad. They’re doing some really amazing things. Think of all the advances in medical science-”

“Arthur,” Eames cuts him off, “you and I both know what practical uses our respective governments are going to find for sharing dreams, and it isn’t in helping elderly ladies remember where they left their house keys and letting coma patients talk to their families again. Hell, if the general populace knows about this in twenty years, someone is going to be be summarily imprisoned- if not worse- for a major information breach. There’s a reason they only brought the highest ranking officers in on this project- guys who are military for life- they’ve got the most to lose. They aren’t going to use it to cure Alzheimer’s or any other such neurological disorder- it’ll be military tech.”

“Surely they can do both,”

“I wouldn’t bet on it, love, though it’s certainly a question I’ve posed before. Alas, breeders, the lot of them. I do both all the time, myself,” Eames tells him with an honest-to-God wink.

“ _Eames_ , you- you can’t just-” And that’s it, the last straw, “the  _flirting_  Eames- all the time, it has to stop. And you- you kissed me in the field today. You  _kissed_  me,” and suddenly he has another thought, “Oh God, you didn’t tell anyone about that, did you?”

“Oh, only our best mate General Wallace, half the research team-”

He’s got that patented smirk on his face, and Arthur knows Eames- mentally, he knows it’s a joke, but still-

“Eames you-”

“Relax, love, I didn’t tell anyone,” and Arthur knows it’s the truth- allows himself to push the panic back down just a bit, “Wouldn’t do to get you kicked off the project for breaking that ridiculous anti-queer law you Americans have in place- thankfully Britain has managed to collectively remove head from arse on that subject at least.”

“Well, good,” Arthur takes a moment to breathe, but he isn’t finished, and there are some things that need to be said now, while they are alone for once. He steels himself before continuing, “Eames, we can’t keep doing this. It’s invading our work, and I-” he pauses to find the right words, “-I don’t  _want_  to do this when I know it isn’t going anywhere,” he pauses again, “There’s no use in-”

“Who says it’s not going anywhere?”

“-continuing,” Arthur stops- reroutes his thoughts around Eames’ words, “Well, it isn’t, is it? I mean, you’re an… attractive man, and I’m… here. And obviously interested. I mean, you’re a big flirt, and I’m sure you’re used to having more options, but there are so few of us here anyway,” he hesitates, “Look- lieutenant Patrice was giving you a look-over the other day, so she might be interested, or there’s Julian from research-” he cuts off after that. The look that Eames is giving him has gone from careful blankness to-  _oh_ , Arthur thinks,  _that’s definitely anger_.

“Well right-o then. Thanks a fucking  _million_ , Arthur. This has been the worst fucking dry spell. Thank God I have you here to acquire my next  _shag_  for me,” the last words are spat out at Arthur with particular distaste, Eames having moved closer to Arthur with each word, backing him towards the bed. They’re almost nose to nose now as Eames continues, his words quiet in their intensity, “Has it occurred to you that perhaps the reason why I have been flirting with you specifically has less to do with you being the only person around and more to do with the fact that I might want _you_? Do you think that I often risk my position for a shag? It might not be taboo to be queer in the Great British military anymore, but I don’t think that they’d take too kindly to me regularly shagging the new recruits. And on that, do you think me so unprofessional, so ruthless, that I’d risk your position over a sodding  _kiss_?

“You were fucking dying Arthur and I didn’t think-  _oh, he’ll just wake up_ \- I didn’t think  _at all_. You were dying, and I just _ran_. I didn’t- I couldn’t let you be alone in that state for a second longer. But then you- you could barely hold that gun you were so weak- and so I- and then- then I couldn’t- I couldn’t open my eyes because- because you were- and I couldn’t bare it, Arthur, and if you- Arthur, if you think I’d commit a  _fucking murder-suicide_  for every decent shag I’ve had-”

“But you-” Arthur cuts in, stunned, “I mean- I wondered when you were up just after me but- Eames, you’ve  _seen_  me dead, we’ve seen each other dead, probably too many times to  _count_ -”

“Yeah, but it isn’t the fucking same, is it? Not when I’ve just fucking-” Eames chokes off, running a palm down his own face, and turning away from Arthur. When he turns back his voice is level again, “Anyway, point is if I were after lieutenant Patrice, I’d’ve been after fucking  _lieutenant Patrice_. And for the record? It’s your arse Julian from research is trailing after. Not mine.”

And with that, Eames steps back, turning and beginning to storm out of the room and Arthur- he needs to stop him- he needs to-

“Eames.”

The larger man stops, but but doesn’t turn back, making no other indication of having heard Arthur’s voice.

“Eames, I-” and if this is his only chance, then Arthur is going to take it, “I couldn’t have pulled that trigger- the blood-loss- it was too much. I barely managed to get a loose grip on the thing, let alone lift it to my head. My chest was full of bulletholes, my left arm was shot to hell. Even if I would’ve managed to pull the trigger, I probably would’ve jerked at the recoil and just left myself to bleed to death with half a jaw. Hell, I was about ready to  _drop_  the damned thing when you came sprinting around the corner.

"At first I thought it was one of the projections, or maybe another of Rodney’s guys, back to fuck me up even worse, because we were supposed to be covert, but then it was you, and I just thought,  _‘this dumbass is gonna get himself blown up too’_ , but then- I was so out of it, but you were kissing me and it was- it was nice and I felt warm and I just closed my eyes and when I opened them I was awake in the lab again. I didn’t even notice the shot. I know some of the other guys say that they never feel that last blow, but I feel it every time. I feel that last bit of pain every single time I get taken out, and this- today- was the first time it’s ever felt, not like dying, but like waking up from a dream.”

“Arthur, love, that’s-” And Eames, at some point, had turned back around, moving to stand in front of Arthur again, so very close. Arthur isn’t ready to let him speak yet though.

“No- wait. I’m not done, Eames. It’s- It’s so dangerous. Because as long as I feel that pain- as long as I know I’m dying- when I open my eyes after, I know I’m awake. But I- I don’t know if I died, Eames. Right now I’m sitting here, and I’m reasonably sure that I’m awake- even some of the newest blends don’t feel quite this sharp- so I- I’m fairly sure that I woke up, but I’m not positive. And then, of course, what they’re working towards is perfect clarity inside the dream, and what am I going to do then, huh? If I can’t tell if I’ve woken up or not? I can’t live my life being only reasonably sure I’m living it at all.”

“Arthur-” and his voice is cautious in a way that Arthur has no use for, “perhaps you should go back to psych and-”

“No,” He cuts in, “Don’t give me that. I’m awake. I  _know_  I’m awake. I’m  _fine_ \- this time. It’s next time that has me worried- and the time after that. How the hell am I supposed to trust in my concept of reality now?” His legs feel weak, so he allows himself to collapse back down onto the bed.

“Arthur, I-” Eames hesitates, glancing away, brows pinched. When he looks back, he sighs and then continues, looking like he’s readying himself to tear an arrow out of his own shoulder, “Okay. Alright- I’m going to show you something,” Eames tells him, kneeling down in front of Arthur, sticking his left hand in his pocket, and pulling out… what looks to be a bright red poker chip, “This,” Eames starts, “belonged to my father. The last remnant of, by his own words, ‘the only poker game he ever lost’- Not because he was a superior player, mind you. He was just a bloody good cheat. Only proper life skill my father ever taught me- how to cheat at poker.”

“There are many who might disagree with your use of the word ‘proper’ there.”

“Hush, you, and  _listen_. Now- this chip, in the real world, you can see- bright red, cheap old plastic- but in my dreams the red is always a few shades too dark. It’s heavier too, when I’m asleep, like it’s made out of metal instead, but if I toss it in the air- light as a feather, like it barely has any weight to it at all.”

“So you, what? Carry it with you in the dream world?” Arthur asks, intrigued by the concept.

“I carry it with me everywhere.”

“As a precaution. Just in case you need to know you aren’t dreaming,” he says it as a statement, but Eames is fairly quick to correct him.

“Well, yes, and no. That’s not why  _I_  carry it, it just ended up working that way. It’s come in handy a time or two, as well. It could work that way for you, I’m sure, with something similar.”

“I don’t- I don’t have anything like that. Nothing with meaning. Nothing I could just keep in my pocket like that.”

“Really? Nothing? Hell, all the knickknacks and shite I’ve got stuffed in my pockets, it’s a miracle I can find my chip at all- here,” he says, reaching into his pockets and pulling out two hands full of mostly junk, lifting the items up for Arthur to see, “take your pick.”

There are quite a few coins in the bunch- each looking to be from a different country- a bit of knotted string, a button that, Arthur notes, appears to be the same one that is missing from the collar of Eames’ uniform, along with some generic office supplies- probably nicked from the research team- a frayed cloth rose, and a few other random items. What Arthur’s eyes fix on, however, is the small red die, seated squarely in the palm of the other man’s left hand. He reaches for it before he’s even really considered doing so, pinching it between his pointer finger and thumb and pulling it out of the mess. It’s… oddly heavier than he expected it to be and he thinks for a split second about what Eames just said about his poker chip being heavier when he’s dreaming, but Eames speaks before the thought has a chance to cement itself.

“That’s a loaded die- not a particularly good one either. It’s good for a lark, but anyone picks it up and it’s all over. Too obvious a fake. Still, lands six up nearly every time, so, used sparingly- you could do worse. All yours, love.”

“I- thank you.”

Arthur stares down at the tiny red die- tries to commit its particular color and exact shape to memory. He clenches it tightly in his fist, feeling the corners dig into the skin of his palm. When he looks back up, Eames has already looked away, and is moving back.

“Well, now that we’ve got all that sorted, I should be off.” He stands, brushing off the knees of his trousers. Arthur stands with him.

“Eames, when you- about this- what you said. You meant it?”

“Every word of it.”

And Arthur really looks at Eames, the lines of his face in the dim light showing an expression more serious than Arthur has ever seen on him.

“You know I still can’t- we can’t be open with this. If anyone finds out- I’ll be sent back to Boston on the first train home with nothing but a Court Martial to my name.”

“I’m not asking to hold your hand and skip down the hall, Arthur. Although, to be fair, I might do, if that was what you wanted,” He slips in a cheeky smirk, before his expression goes serious again, “I just- this isn’t nothing. I’m not waiting for the next willing piece of arse to show up. We’ll figure it out, that’s all I ask, let us figure it out.”

“Alright. I can do that,” And Arthur can’t help the smile that spreads widely across his own face, but Eames is smiling back, and moving closer, leaning in, their breath mingling together, and Arthur is leaning in too, breaching those last few inches and then they’re kissing and Eames is cupping his jaw with one hand and pulling him closer with the other- arm wrapping tight around his waist, and Arthur is wrapping his own arms around Eames’ neck holding him there and-

“Hey Arthur! You still in there? I can’t get the door- my hands are full. Would you mind?”

Arthur pulls back at the sound of Paulie’s voice, eyes still shut, pressing his forehead against Eames’ and taking a few calming breaths.

“Fucking’ Davis,” Eames grumbles, backing off, and Arthur is inclined to agree. Still, he quickly straightens out the front of his shirt, and goes to get the door, Eames following behind him.

Paulie shoots an odd look between the two of them when Arthur opens the door, but says nothing, and hands over a box when Eames offers to help carry something. Back in the room, Eames makes polite conversation for for a few minutes, before making a tactical retreat towards his own wing, and, as the other man makes his exit, Arthur finds himself feeling a strange mixture of both disappointment and hope.

Tomorrow, he’ll wake up, get dressed, eat breakfast in the mess, and head towards the lab to try the same failed field mission again. He and Eames will pass in the hall. Eames will send him taunts laced with unsubtle flirtation, and Arthur will respond with exasperated sighs, and quick-witted derision, and neither of them will say the words they have in their thoughts, but each of them will hear the underlying conversation anyway.

They’ll find their respective teams and go over strategy before being thrust once again onto desert soil and into each other’s minds. They’ll do their jobs perfectly, and if they see one another in the dream, neither will stop for more than a second glance.

Afterward, they’ll each go through psych evals. Arthur will make no mention of Eames and he knows Eames will make no mention of him, despite the way their thoughts turn to one another. At supper, in the mess again, they’ll speak to each other as comrades, but perhaps afterwards they’ll both agree to go out for drinks with the rest of their teams, and there, in the dim light of the bar, the rest of the group getting happily drunk all around them, they can sit beside each other with no one the wiser and speak in low voices about a possible future- making plans for a night, hopefully not too far off, that they can spend alone together.

Later, they’ll return to base, buzzed enough to feel a warm excitement in their veins, and separate, helping some of the more inebriated sods back to their rooms because neither of them is anything if not responsible- at least when put in charge of another man’s safety, if not dignity- and Arthur will lie awake in his own bed thinking of that possible night in a possible future knowing that it actually  _is_  possible, and he’ll know- by the weight of the tiny red die in the palm of his hand- that he isn’t dreaming.

  


**Author's Note:**

> (Comic pages can also be found - with links to their full-size versions- on my Tumblr starting with page one [[here]](http://eksdy.tumblr.com/post/126514393759/point-blank-an-arthureames-fancomic-by-me).)
> 
> End notes copy-pasted straight from my post on Tumblr:
> 
> That’s it folks! My creative feat for the summer (though, the Warrior watch party kind of stirred up some inspiration for me as well, possible Brendan/Frank fic soon to come). None of this story-wise is particularly groundbreaking- I wanted to keep it fairly canon compliant- but It’s kind of part of a bigger AU I’ve got churning in my head where “the military made them do it” via emotion manipulating somnacin mixture, so there might be more from this ‘verse. No promises, though. I’m very bad at keeping up with my creative endeavors (this particular project was an absolute fluke).
> 
> This year’s Inceptiversary really brightened up the year for me, and I want to say thanks again to everyone who organized and helped out with that, as well as everyone else who contributed, whether through art, fic, discussion, coming to the watch parties (so glad I got to meet so many of you awesome people!), and whatever else!
> 
> Thanks for fueling my inspiration and enthusiasm with your inspiration and enthusiasm!
> 
> I love this fandom, and I love you guys!
> 
> ~ Eksdy


End file.
